


Welcome

by GemmaRose



Series: Kinktober 2020 [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Harems, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Partners, Other, Polyamory, Safe Sane and Consensual, Size Difference, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tactile Sexual Interfacing, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26749489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: After a comprehensive courtship from Cyclonus, Minimus has agreed to join the mech's household for a night to test their compatibility in the berth.
Relationships: Cyclonus/Minimus Ambus/Rewind/Rung/Swerve/Tailgate/Whirl
Series: Kinktober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947760
Kudos: 33





	Welcome

Minimus looked around the room, noting each mech’s presence. Tailgate and Swerve and Rewind, Cyclonus at his side radiating calm, steady assurance, and- “Hello, Whirl.” he said, looking from the rotary to Cyclonus. “I wasn’t aware he would be here.”

“He is as much a member as you are.” Cyclonus said, his voice smooth and even. “Don’t worry, he’s not going to touch unless you ask him to.”

“Oh. Thank you.” he inclined his helm at Whirl, who gave him a criminally sloppy salute.

“No fun if you ain’t used to being passed around.” he drawled, reaching out and tugging Swerve closer with a claw on the hip. “What’s the plan for tonight, Cy?”

“We’ll be keeping it simple.” Cyclonus said, leading Minimus to the large berth, which at second glance was actually two regular berths smushed together. “I will work you open, and sit you on my spike. Once you are comfortable, the others will come and touch you with the aim of bringing you to overload as many times as you desire. Whirl will be watching, and will most likely self-service-”

“Damn right.”

“But he will not touch you unless you ask for it.” Cyclonus cast Whirl a scathing look. “Are these terms agreeable, Minimus?”

“Yes, very.” Minimus nodded, boosting himself up onto the edge of the berth. “What about Rung? I was under the impression he was to be part of this as well.”

“Rung, unfortunately, is not feeling well tonight.” Cyclonus frowned, his field flickering with concern. “He apologized for not being able to welcome you.”

“It’s perfectly alright.” Minimus said quickly. “I hope he recovers soon.”

“He will. He always does.” Tailgate chimed in, seating himself at Minimus’s side. “Oh, and we use a colour system. If everything’s good, you’re green. If you want us to stop, red. _Anywhere_ in the middle is yellow.”

“A very sensible system.” Minimus nodded. “I’ll be sure to use it.”

“Good!” Tailgate chirped, and Cyclonus sat on his other side, the bonded pair stroking gently at seams on his thighs and hips. “Is there anything you’d like us to do, Minimus?”

“Well, uh.” heat flushed his vents, quickening them as he looked away. “I admit, I have not... It has been some time, since I interfaced with anyone.” even longer if they counted only times that he had interfaced in his irreducible form, as he was now.

“Then we’ll be gentle.” Cyclonus murmured, three claws dipping into Minimus’s hip seam and his thumb teasing at the near set of abdominal vents. “I swear on my spark, Minimus, you will never come to harm in this room without it being at your personal request.”

“Well, that’s good to hear.” he said blandly, shifting slightly as Tailgate stroked daringly close to his modesty panel. Cyclonus’s thumb sank between the slats of his vents, and Minimus shivered as charge bloomed from the point of contact, racing across his sensornet. “Do that some more, please.” he hummed, opening his vents further to give Tailgate and Cyclonus both the best access they could get.

“Like this?” Tailgate asked, deft fingers slipping clean between Minimus’s slats to brush the sensitive inner wall of his vents behind them. He jerked at the burst of sensation, the pressure on previously untouched nodes overwhelming, and Tailgate’s other hand came around to rub at his panel, the bot himself twisting to straddle Minimus’s leg. He felt the wet heat of a valve rim rubbing against his thigh, and moments later his own panel snapped back, exposing his dampening valve to the cool air of the berthroom.

“Colour?” Cyclonus asked, his field placid and calm.

“Green.”

“Good.” Tailgate leaned in, pressing the point of his mask to Minimus’s cheek and imparting a small spark of electricity. The nearest the bot could get to a kiss, with his mask and lack of mouth.

“Rewind, no recording.” Cyclonus said firmly, and Minimus looked over to see Rewind looking away bashfully. His pretty little spike was out and in hand, a simple unadorned piece in a gradient of black and white, with stripes of red biolights running down both sides.

“Sorry, habit.” Rewind tilted his helm, the light behind his visor squinting in a smile. “You make such a pretty picture between them, Minimus.”

“Pretty?” Minimus cycled his audials.

“ _Very_ pretty.” Cyclonus agreed solemnly, his claws carefully circling the outer edge of Minimus’s vave rim. “You are a handsome mech, Minimus. As are all I choose to bring into my household.”

“It’s true.” Tailgate nodded, pulling his fingers out of Minimus’s vent slats to trace the vent rims on both sides of his abdomen. “You’re a handsome bot, Minimus. Green is such a nice colour.”

Minimus wasn’t sure if it was Tailgate’s words or Cyclonus’s finger sliding into his valve that made him gasp, but either way his charge was <>definitely building now, Cyclonus’s finger coming out wetter every time it sank deep into his valve and withdrew. Minimus spread his legs a touch wider, as far as he could with Cyclonus as his one side and Tailgate straddling his other leg, and across the room Swerve’s engine revved at the sight of Cyclonus’s second finger sinking into Minimus’s valve. He had expected it to take a long time to rev up, expected that having optics on him would make him self-conscious, but it seemed to be quite the opposite. He could feel every set of optics on him, and each one tingled under his plating, stoking the charge which coiled low in his tanks.

“Colour?”

“Green.”

“Are you ready for a third finger?” Cyclonus asked, and Minimus nodded. Tailgate shifted off his thigh, and Minimus decidedly did not _squeak_ as he was lifted onto Cyclonus’s lap. The mech’s spike was, much like the rest of him, and impressive piece of Golden Age engineering. Studded with two lines of biolights down the topside, and thickly ridged on the bottom in a way he was certain would feel heavenly raking against the sensors on his anterior valve wall.

“Cyclonus, I-” he gasped, clutching the mech’s arm as those deft claws struck a deep-set cluster of nodes. “I won’t last if yo-ohhhhhhhh” he trailed off in a moan, hips bucking into Cyclonus’s touch involuntarily.

“That’s it, Minimus.” Cyclonus purred, the rev of his engine powerful enough to vibrate Minimus right through to his core. “Let go for me. Let me see you overload.” a thumb pressed firmly to his node, and Minimus came undone with a wail, lubricant drenching Cyclonus’s hand and both their laps. “Beautiful. Incomparably beautiful.” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to Minimus’s forehead. “Colour?”

“Gre-gree-green.” Minimus managed, his vocaliser stuttering badly as a second, lesser overload swept through him.

“Are you ready for my spike?” Cyclonus asked, and Minimus shook his helm.

“Another finger, please.” he murmured, and Cyclonus nodded.

“You know your frame best.” he acknowledged, and slipped a fourth finger into Minimus’s valve, alternating between deep, filling thrusts and stretches that teased the limits of Minimus’s current valve configuration. “Tell me when you’re ready.” Cyclonus purred, and Minimus nodded, clinging to Cyclonus’s arm as his deepest valve calipers finally began to loosen up.

“I’m ready.” he rasped, and had to bite back a whine of complaint when Cyclonus’s fingers immediately withdrew from his valve. It must have shown in his field though, because Cyclonus and Tailgate both responded immediately with pulses of _assurance comfort affection_. Minimus let himself be lifted and manipulated into position, and ex-vented deeply as Cyclonus lowered him again, this time onto his spike.

The first handpan or so slid into him easily, and then came the stretch. Cyclonus’s fingers had prepared him well, but the sensation was still so much _more_ , Cyclonus’s spike activating what felt like every node in his valve as it sank deeper, and deeper, and deeper. Before he knew it he was seated fully in Cyclonus’s lap again, valve rim quivering taut around the base of the spike which filled him so utterly he swore he could feel his internals reconfiguring around it. His legs trembled, hips protesting slightly at the stretch of having his pedes on the outside of Cyclonus’s thighs, but that was a discomfort easily dismissed.

“Colour?” Cyclonus asked, petting soothingly at his middle.

“Yellow.” Minimus said, trembling as Tailgate shifted into his field of vision.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, settling between Cyclonus’s knees. His inner thighs, Minimus noticed belatedly, were stained pink with lubricant.

“Not wrong.” Minimus shook his helm, trying to gather his scattered thoughts, marshal them into some semblance of order. “Just- a lot.”

“It really is.” Rewind nodded, clambering up on the berth at his side and taking Minimus’s hand. “But you’re doing so well, Minimus. You took it all in one go! It takes a week of prep before I can get half of it.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got those tiny little hips.” Tailgate teased, reaching over to grab Rewind by the hip and squeeze.

“Hey, some of us can’t see.” Swerve complained. Rewind rolled his optics.

“Then get your aft over here! We get to start touching soon as he gives us the green light, after all.”

“Oh, right!” Swerve chirped, and by the time the little medic-turned-barkeep had joined them on the berth Minimus no longer felt like he was about to pop if he moved wrong.

“Green now.” he said, looking up at Cyclonus, who nodded solemnly.

“Rewind, you may go first.”

Rewind let out an excited blip of static, and leaned in to bonk his mask against Minimus’s cheek, sprinkling sparks of charge across his derma as deft hands sought out the seams in his chest, teasing charge from sensors usually tucked safely behind armour. “Primus, you’re so handsome.” Rewind murmured. “I hope you’ll let me record you in the future.”

Minimus tried to reply, but all that came out was a moan, Cyclonus’s hands on his hips keeping him from arching too much into Rewind’s touch. Rewind removed his fingers from the seams he’d been tormenting, and those clever hands skimmed down his front straight to his array. One hand around his spike and two quick tugs was all it took to draw another overload out off him, transfluid splashing Rewind’s arm and abdomen. “S-s-sor-r-r-r-”

“Shh, it’s alright.” Cyclonus soothed, petting the top of his helm gently. “No apology necessary.”

Rewind lifted his arm, and licked most of the transfluid off his plating in one long sweep of his glossa. “None at all.” Rewind pulsed playful affection at him, and scooted back to give Swerve some room.

“Can we hardline?” Swerve asked, scooting up against Minimus’s side with a field full of earnest hope and anticipation, no guile at all. “It’s just, I overload so much better hardlining, and-”

“Swerve.” Cyclonus said firmly, removing a hand from Minimus’s hips to cup the back of Swerve’s helm, knuckles brushing the inside of his cowl. “I will hardline with you after, if you wish. But tonight is about Minimus.”

“I would- would rather not.” he said politely, every slight shift reminding him of the spike seated snugly in his valve. There was too much in his processor that no other could be allowed to see, and even more that he would rather keep from his berthmates, especially if Cyclonus truly meant what he said about folding Minimus into his growing household. The inner workings of his processor were no business of anyone but himself and Rung.

Swerve pouted, but only momentarily before he leaned in and planted his mouth over Minimus’s spark casing, glossa teasing the armour seam where his chestplates could split to bare his spark, an act he had never considered doing before and likely would not earnestly contemplate for at least another few stellar cycles. He could, however, flare his armour to widen that seam. Let Swerve’s glossa slip between the plates and lick at the protometal beneath. He would have to scrub himself extra thoroughly later but <>primus it felt incredible. He gripped the back of Swerve’s helm to keep him in place, and received a happy engine rev in return.

Swerve pulled away before he overloaded, however, and Minimus’s attention was abruptly drawn back to his array, where Tailgate was swallowing his spike with practiced ease, strong white hands squeezing his thighs, thumbs pressing into flared seams to push his pleasure even higher. He overloaded without warning, and as Tailgate pulled away Minimus saw only a thin dribble of silver tracing down his mask.

“Your colour, Minimus?” Cyclonus asked, his tone indicating he’d asked at least twice before. Minimus cycled a deep vent and leaned back against Cyclonus’s bulk.

“Green.”

“Are you prepared for me to move, now?”

“ _Please_.”

Cyclonus’s hands on his hips tightened, and Minimus couldn’t help the whimper which pulled from his vocaliser as he was lifted slowly and carefully halfway off of Cyclonus’s spike. Being lowered was equally slow and careful, and for a few repetitions Minimus simply basked in the sensations, the exquisite fullness of being seated and glorious drag of Cyclonus’s spike sliding out of his valve. Then Cyclonus began to move him faster, and faster, each stroke pulling Minimus further off of Cyclonus’s spike until only the very tip stayed nestled in his valve at all times, Cyclonus’s strokes quick and smooth and sure.

“I’m close.” he warned, and Cyclonus gripped his hips tighter, increasing his pace until Minimus overloaded with a sharp cry, spilling lubricant and what little transfluid he had left all over himself and Cyclonus and the berth beneath them. He whined at the emptiness when Cyclonus pulled out, and didn’t complain as he was scooped up into Cyclonus’s arms and lifted. The solvent Cyclonus lowered him into was gloriously warm, and Minimus let his optic shutters close and stay closed as Cyclonus slowly and thoroughly cleaned him.

“Colour?” he murmured, and Minimus hummed sleepily as a gentle hand brushed over the side of his helm.

“Green.” he replied softly. “Very, very green.”

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to any not-logged-in readers, but due to an ex who refuses to leave me alone I have had to disable anon comments. Kudos are still open though, and if you want to scream (or would like me to write a fic for you) come check me out on Pillowfort! No account required to get my discord, and I'm always happy to chat. [[Link](https://www.pillowfort.social/GemmaRose)]


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